


Promise of Safety

by lastcrazyhorn



Series: Get What You Want [2]
Category: Midsomer Murders - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Gaping, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom!Tom Barnaby, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:48:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28483395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastcrazyhorn/pseuds/lastcrazyhorn
Summary: Tom's POV from "He Tastes of Coffee."
Relationships: Joyce Barnaby/Tom Barnaby, Tom Barnaby/Male Reader, Tom Barnaby/Reader
Series: Get What You Want [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2080776
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4
Collections: Best_Reader_Inserts, Midsomer_Melee





	Promise of Safety

**Author's Note:**

> **[Y/N] = Your Name**

"Tom?" Joyce asks.

It's late afternoon and he is buried in a book.

"Hm?"

"Don't forget that [Y/N] is going to come over this evening." 

_Oh. Oh!_

"Thank you for the reminder, my dear. I did just about forget. What time did you say he was planning to get here?"

"Any minute."

He gets up, only grunting a little from the still persistent pain in his shoulder. He heads for the kitchen and gets a glass of water. He eyes the prescription stuff that his doctor prescribed, and decides to eschew it, despite the steady throb of pain. He nearly spills his glass of water when the doorbell rings, and curses aloud. Pulling out two paracetamol from the bottle in the cabinet, he quickly swallows them, and then idly wonders if there is anything to feed [Y/N] should he be hungry. 

Quickly realising that food is going to be up to him-- _when is it not?_ \--he closes the refrigerator door, and nearly jumps out of his skin when he finds you standing behind him. 

"[Y/N]," He calls, feeling a warmth blossom in his chest when you smile back.

_It's been too long. I've missed you dearly._

He throws his uninjured arm around your neck and pulls you close, breathing in your aftershave with a smile.

[Y/N] kisses him, and he is reminded of how safe he always feels in your arms.

"I've missed you," [Y/N] says.

Warmth blossoms in his chest, and it is easy to say the same back.

[Y/N] touches his cheek, and he wonders if he should have shaved. The sultry look in your eyes belies that worry, though, and he relaxes farther against you.

You hold him like he is a precious commodity, gasping in his ear at each touch and caress, and he holds on for dear life, loathe to let go.

He doesn't remember the last time someone looked at him like you do. 

It makes his chest ache a bit, and makes his feelings for you grow into something nearly unmanageable. 

"Bedroom?" He asks, trying to fight off the urge to throw you onto the nearest surface and have his way with you.

_My back will not appreciate it, despite whatever sentiments I may be harbouring at the time._

"You don't want to get shagged on the floor?" [Y/N] asks.

Something wild threatens to burst out of his chest at that, and his cock twitches. He hopes you don't notice. 

"No. I do not," He manages to sound mature in light of the overwhelming arousal that's starting to work its way through him.

He pulls you to his and Joyce's bedroom. Sex with Joyce has long been a comfort, but it hasn't thrilled him for a long time.

A slap on his arse shakes him from his dark thoughts.

[Y/N] pushes him to stand in front of the mirror, and drapes both arms over his shoulders. 

A sharp pain goes through his shoulder with the added weight, and he nearly cries aloud from it.

"If you lean too much on my left shoulder, I'm apt to make some sort of embarrassing sound," He says, biting back that sound. 

A flash of darkness passes in front of his eyes as he remembers where he sustained the injury. His brief flashback is interrupted when you speak.

"I thought I saw you favouring that arm," [Y/N] says, pulling back his weight as he does. 

[Y/N]'s eyes find his, and they stare at him with concern.

"Suspect got the jump on me," He answers. 

He remembers being helpless in front of a giant of a man. He remembers the cold of the floor and the chill in the air. He remembers the horror he felt when he realised exactly what had happened to the man standing over him.

"Gave me a hell of a bruise," He manages to add in a choked voice.

[Y/N] frowns and kisses his shoulder, his lips a fleeting mark of heat on injured flesh.

Slowly wrapping his arms around him, and avoiding his shoulder in the process, [Y/N] starts to slowly undress him. 

He doesn't know why you're doing this, and he looks at you in question. 

_I'm not broken_ , is his stubborn thought.

"You're my toy, are you not?" [Y/N] grins at him.

He laughs, mostly at himself, and reaches out for your hand, stroking your fingers to confirm that you are real.

"And I get to undress my toy," [Y/N] adds in a deeper voice.

He shivers at your sultry tone, and the promise staring back at him with your smile. He thinks that he would do anything for you at this moment, if you were but to ask it. 

_If only to feel the warmth of your regard once more._

He's glad no one can hear his thoughts.

[Y/N] pulls off his shirt, and stares briefly at his bruise.

"I bet they called it a 'contusion' when you were getting checked out," [Y/N] mutters, stroking a hand down his arm. 

He shouldn't be surprised that you know that word, or at your accurate prediction. The doctor that had seen him had wanted him to get further x-rays, but he had managed to put most of them off until later. 

He's had worse, really. Joyce didn't even blink at finding out he had gotten injured again. 

He is helped out of his undershirt and marvels at the smoothness of your actions. Large hands roam over his flesh, carefully stroking and rubbing as though he is made of the finest material.

He sighs at your regard and relaxes further, knowing that you will never let him fall.

"Next time I have a dry spell, how 'bout you send me a picture of your forearms, and I'll just jerk off to them, eh?"

The comment is a surprise, and he fumbles for something to retort with. 

"You're one to talk! Your biceps are twice as big as my head," He argues, watching as the flesh of your torso comes into view.

He stares at your arms in wonderment, and hopes that his own physique is not lacking in comparison. He tries to keep fit, but age has been wearing down his resolve, and it is hard to find the same motivation that he had when he was younger.

_Though, if you were to watch me like this all the time, I might be more inspired._

"Lies," [Y/N] says, rolling his hips into your arse.

He pushes back and closes his eyes, feeling every curve more as he tunes out the rest of the room. 

Hands wander down his torso, and he leans back onto your chest, knowing that you have him. Long fingers dip under the edge of his trousers, under his belt line, and he shudders, suddenly ticklish. 

He feels his heart in his throat, as his groin blooms with electricity. One hand goes down further, and he groans at the implications. 

In the back of his head, he can hear his father screaming about the wrongness of men touching _other_ men, and he firmly tells that memory to bugger off. 

Having another man touch him in this illicit spot brings heat to his cheeks, as well as making his underarms damp with sweat.

Fingers touching his nipple nearly distract him from the feel of his trousers being pulled open.

"Fuck, you're sexy," [Y/N] whispers into his ear.

He shivers at the feel.

"I assure you," He answers, finally opening his eyes again to catch yours in the mirror. "You are part of a very small few who thinks so." 

He cannot remember the last time anyone of either sex looked at him like you are.

"A lucky few, then," [Y/N] answers.

Every point of touch between him and you is blossoming with warmth, and he fights the urge to rub against you like a cat.

Trousers are undone and eased over the noticeable lump in his briefs before being dropped to floor. He kicks them out of the way and turns to look at you. 

_You're gorgeous. I want to touch you everywhere._

[Y/N] strips, and he swallows hard at the plateau standing before him.

"You're gorgeous," He finally manages aloud.

He grasps and bends you backward, marvelling at how well you listen to the instructions of his hands. He pushes his tongue into your mouth, wanting nothing more than to be part of your body, however you may let him.

He pushes you back onto the bed, and finally removes his last offending article of clothing, tossing his briefs backward with nary a glance to see where they land.

Warm lips wrap around his cock, and he jerks in surprise. Wet heat covers him, and he feels the slightest edge of teeth scraping the underside of his cock. 

The hint of danger thrills him; as does the feel of a tongue sticking itself in his slit.

He follows you onto the bed, telling you to pull back the duvet as you do. Dry cleaning is not something he wants to worry about right now.

Chest to chest, he revels in the feel of your hairy chest. He runs his fingers through it in a reverent manner, and thrusts his hips forward in idle lust as you kiss him.

Warm fingers on the side of his face greet him as he breaks for air. 

"Your wife told me you like anal?" Are the words waiting for him at the other end, and he groans.

"Joyce told you that?" 

He feels as though he is short circuiting, and doesn't know whether to groan in dismay or beg you to do something about it.

"She said she has a strap-on," [Y/N] says, sucking marks down his neck.

 _Oh, GOD._

On one hand, he would have loved to have heard that conversation, but on the other hand . . . _oh God, what was she thinking?_

"Lube's in the top drawer, rubbers too," He manages to say, fighting himself to keep from whingeing.

"And if I told you I wanted to go bareback?" 

His eyes nearly roll backward in his head, but he manages to keep his mind.

Somewhat.

"I'd say, I'd say I hope you've had a recent blood test and are clean."

He feels as though he is stuttering, even as his cock jumps at his words, and his hips thrust forward of their own accord.

"Paperwork's in my car," [Y/N] says, biting down on his collarbone and sucking a bruise into place.

He moans loudly, drunk on the feel of so much touch; the slight pain on his collarbone just pushing his arousal that much higher and faster.

[Y/N] asks him to go to his hands and knees, and he turns before he lets himself think about what's happening.

"Gosh, that's a pretty hole," [Y/N] says.

He buries his face in the mattress, his face burning with embarrassment, and the overwhelming need to spread himself further for your appraisal. 

_And how do I taste?_ He does not _let_ himself ask.

A finger running down his cleft makes him jerk forward, nearly off the bed if it had not been for the careful hand holding onto his hip.

"Sensitive?"

Hands pushing and pulling on his arse make it nearly impossible for him to form thoughts around. 

"A bit," He manages, grinding down on the mattress mindlessly.

"How many fingers should I start with?"

_I can take three of Joyce's, but your hands are so much bigger . . . God, I don't know._

"Two should be fine," He finally answers, clenching his eyes shut and grabbing onto the side of the mattress.

_I will not beg. I will not beg. It is unbecoming of a gentleman to beg._

"Shhh," [Y/N] instructs, rubbing a hand down his spine. "Relax. I've got you."

He shakes at your gentleness, threatening to come apart at your concern as you carefully work two fingers inside of him. He bears down on your fingers, fucking himself on them. It feels too good not to, and he doesn't let himself think much about it.

A third finger goes in and he feels himself panting, mouth open against the mattress.

"Did you know that you can fit two full grown raccoons in your arse before causing serious damage?" [Y/N] asks.

He appreciates the randomness of your comment. It helps pull him back from the brink of desperation. 

"How do you figure?" His voice is muffled.

"The rectum can stretch 8 inches and raccoons can fit into spaces only 4 inches wide," [Y/N] says, sounding far more in control than he feels.

"Huh."

"Here, sit up," [Y/N] instructs, pulling fingers out his arse an audible _slurk._

His arse sounds like something from a porno, and he feels a bit of disconnect at the realisation.

He is pulled upright, and he straddles [Y/N]'s lap on his knees as he reaches blindly backward for your cock. Smooth stiff heat meets his hand, and he swallows hard before directing it into his body.

He slides down by way of gravity; his body splitting wide for your cock. He's never felt so full by the time he can slide no more. The strap-on dildo that Joyce uses on him is as long as [Y/N]'s cock, but not nearly as thick. 

He's never had anything so thick inside his body, and he can feel it shaking him apart from the inside out. He feels you shift under him and groans at the implications.

"Do not move," He grits out, head thrown back in helpless abandon.

He will break, he is certain of it, if you move before he's ready.

 _Which, at this rate, will be never,_ is the thought of his hysterical mind.

[Y/N] reaches up and runs a hand down his chest, pausing at his groin. 

He shudders as you touch his cock, pink blossoming anew on his cheeks. It is almost too much; the feel of another man's hand on his cock, while a heavy cock is splitting his insides apart.

"Push out. Breathe," [Y/N] instructs in a commanding voice.

He manages a shaky breath in and then out, pushing out and feeling as though your cock is pushed up into the centre of his very being. 

There's a hand around his cock, stroking him through his pain. He hangs onto it, not certain whether the sensation is good or bad. Under him, you roll your hips and he curses, throat caught on a cry. 

He feels his head being pulled back and he drops it onto a strong shoulder. Arms circle his chest, and he hangs on for dear life. The fullness in his body is easing somewhat, and though he is still feeling overwhelmed, it's starting to be a good kind of overwhelmed.

He feels himself being kissed, and he gives into the distraction wholeheartedly. He feels wetness gathering at the corner of his eyes, and he swallows against it. 

_I will not be beaten by this. I refuse._

He feels his hips being raised and then let go, and he moans into the kiss at the feel, still uncertain whether he is feeling pleasure or pain.

[Y/N] is desperately gentle with him, showing him a care that he rarely gets to feel. It is that care that is slowly letting him ride the wave of pleasure that is beginning to suffuse through his body.

Each gentle thrust makes something in his chest flutter with warmth, and he keeps his mouth shut for fear of giving voice to something he doesn't yet know how to utter.

It doesn't take long for him to need more. 

[Y/N]'s cock within him is pulsating, thrusting upward into hidden spots of sensation, and he can feel his orgasm building slowly. 

He raises himself up higher, pushing back down onto the cock inside him, trying desperately to reach that plateau that's sitting just out of grasp.

"God, yes," He moans, barely aware of the words spilling out of his mouth.

He leans forward more, accidentally changing the angle and cries out weakly, his knees attempting to come together. 

Instead of letting him close his legs, you bring your legs up and push them out farther. His legs are spread wider, obscenely showing his body to the room. 

"Tom," [Y/N] growls.

"Tom."

"What?" His voice is hoarse; eyes clenched as he chases his pleasure.

"Look into the mirror. God, you look so fucking sexy," [Y/N] pants.

With some trouble, he opens his eyes and his breath hitches at the sight. He is spread open, cock standing in front of him as his hole is visibly stretched and battered against from the inside. Bite marks litter his shoulders and neck, and he can see imprints of your fingers all around your hips. He looks--and feels--debauched. 

[Y/N] runs a covetous hand down his chest, and he aches at the feel of pleasure and stinging pain that blooms in its wake.

"You look like something out of a movie."

The sound out of his throat is a desperate cry that is quickly covered up by the wet _slap - slap - slap_ of sound as [Y/N] thrusts quicker and quicker up into him.

[Y/N] shakes under-- _and in_ \--him, and suddenly he can feel molten heat filling his insides. He can feel the pulse of your cock as it spends inside his body, and he shudders at the feel. 

He watches in fascination as your large hands work at his cock like it is merely an extension of your body. His balls are massaged as he's jerked off, almost too quickly to see.

"So fucking sexy," [Y/N] whispers into his ear. "Love having you in hand. You're going to come, I can feel it. Come on, come on," You urge. 

_I'm so close._

It doesn't take much. He clenches down, needing to feel that warm heat in his guts, that feel of another's man's cock rearranging his insides, using him for pleasure. 

He shakes in your hands and lets out a forlorn cry as he starts to come. The pleasure is beyond anything he has felt before; the cock inside of him amping up all sensations, the feel of another man surrounding him sending him into an orgasm unlike any other.

[Y/N] continues to touch him until it hurts, and he grabs onto your hand with a warning in his grip.

"Uh," He manages, still shuddering. 

_God._

"Tom?" 

"Uh," He gasps out, hand finally releasing yours. 

He doesn't have words for this. He's shaking still; his body uncertain of whether it wants to stay here forever or not. He can't remember what he felt like without you inside of him. 

He doesn't know if he wants to remember.

He doesn't notice you licking the tears off his face. He doesn't remember letting them free. 

Making himself relax, he takes several deep breaths in and out, feeling your cock still pushing up within him with each.

He feels you tracing his abdomen with your finger, bypassing his cock and balls, and then reaching down to where you are both joined together. He's stretched impossibly wide around you, and he feels you shiver. He looks at the mirror and smiles at you. It is comforting knowing that he is not the only one undone by this act. 

"You're going to leak when you come off me," [Y/N] points out, voice hushed in awe. "God, I wish you were going back to work today . . ." You trail off. "I can just imagine you leaking into your pants. Maybe making a wet spot at the back of your trousers. God."

He can imagine it. He can imagine the feel of [Y/N]'s cum leaking down the back of his thighs, wetting the seat of his pants, showing everyone who cared to look just what sorts of activities he got up to in his spare time.

He doesn't want to examine just how much he likes the idea.

"That sounds horrifying," He quips instead.

He starts leaning himself forward, taking his own weight off of your lap as he prepares himself to be separate once more.

Abruptly he feels you slip free and he shivers at the feel of something running down his cleft below his hole. He feels cool air on the inside of his hole and resists the urge to feel just how wide his hole is now.

"God," [Y/N]'s voice is hoarse. 

He shivers and pulls his legs underneath him. He rests for a moment, his hole valiantly trying--and failing--to close. He can feel it fluttering, and he thinks he might be leaking wetness onto his heels.

"How do you feel?" You ask.

The question is laughable in its complexity.

"Well fucked," He answers, his voice gravelly. "And tired." 

He could sleep for a week.

His gut rumbles with disquiet, and he frowns at the implications.

"We've got all weekend," [Y/N] points out.

He shivers at the thought. At the moment, he's not certain if he'll ever be up for that again. 

"I'm going to need some time alone with the toilet," He decides, pulling himself upright with a small grimace. 

"Let me know if you need any help," [Y/N] says. 

He glares at the smile on [Y/N]'s face, and slowly limps to the other room. 


End file.
